Unwritten
by UndeniablyPeculiar
Summary: AU: Jace is a romance author, earning him a famous name and a drooling fanbase. Clary is a high-end escort that specializes in satisfying men's strangest desires. One night, while lacking inspiration for a new book, Jace finds himself in the presence of a fiery redhead and the resulting book is his best one yet.


**Hey Guys! I really wanted to try writing something different and this idea has been in my head for a little bit now. I really only plan on continuing it if it receives enough support so please leave me a comment if you want another chapter. If I do write another chapter it will be alternating viewpoints btw. So this chapter is from Jaces POV but next would be from Clary's. It will be rated M for language and probably suggestive scenes later on. Without further adieu, Unwritten!**

JACE POV

"Jace, what the hell? These suck" my manager, Magnus, said as he threw the papers down on the large wooden desk in front of me.

"I didn't think they were THAT bad…" they were pretty bad. But I mean what did they expect? You can't rush perfection and they had only given me a month to come up with the five chapters. Five chapters to an author with inspiration could be done in a day; five chapters to an author with nada could take months.

"You're really going to sit here and defend this shit? This is the same old cliché plotline that been done a bazillion times before. There is no energy, there is no spark, and for fuck's sake, you forgot the Oxford comma at least twice on each page! When I signed you, I stuck my head out on the line. When I signed you…." And that was my cue to tune out. Every time I gave him something slightly less than perfection I would get this same speech. After five New York Times bestsellers, you think I would have repaid my debt for him "sticking his neck out" for me. I mean I don't think you could even call it that. For Magnus, sticking his head out for someone basically meant planting a seed in the minds of those that matter. If the seed grew, points for Magnus, if not, no harm no foul.

"Jace?! Are you even listening to me?" My eyes slid to where he stood. Magnus had always been more eclectic than all the other managers. Other than being very openly gay, his style was filled with glitter, pops of neon, and funky prints. His outfits usually fell smack in the middle of festival wear and professional hipster. Today he had decided to don a pair of black ripped skinny jeans, a silver t-shirt, and a navy blue blazer. To complete the outfit, dark-colored necklaces hung around his neck coupled with his infamous black painted nails.

"Yea, I'm listening" I totally wasn't listening.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" His level of anger was almost hilarious.

"About what?"

The fire in his eyes raged as he let out a scream of frustration, running those black nails through his spiked haired before storming out in a huff. Definitely hilarious.

As much as I wanted to laugh at the situation presented in front of me, Magnus was right. My draft had been absolute shit. Some sappy story about a popular guy that fell for the school freak. It was something that would sell given it had my name on it and people would enjoy it, but it was not to the standard that Magnus held me by, the standard that had brought me to the position I was in today. With five New York Times bestsellers, every tween, teen, and young adult knew my name, with the occasional soccer mom. It was what I had always hoped for. When I was younger I would spend all my time writing in short stories in my journal, it was my little secret. As captain of the football team and president of the student body, my social status would not have benefitted so it stayed my little secret.

When I was first published, I considered publishing under a pseudonym for a while but Magnus eventually talked me out of it. He said and I quote "A pretty face like yours would be the best thing for your career." Of course, he was right. As soon as my work had gained some traction, interviews and photoshoots had gotten my face out there and these god given genes had done their work. Unfortunately, looks might attract the ladies, but they don't always keep them interested, which brings me back to my current dilemma.

I had nothing. No ideas. No sparks. No nothing. And the worst is that I had had nothing for like at least six months by now. Saying I was desperate was an understatement.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair; the soft locks doing nothing to ease my frustrations. After deciding that nothing was going to get done with me angrily staring at a stack of books in my office, I decided that a walk would help to clear my head.

I grabbed my jacket and headed out into the brisk New York air.

* * *

New York City was a crazy city filled with people of all different shapes and sizes. The diversity of ethnicity and personality was truly awe-inspiring. People watching was a favorite pastime of mine. The outfit that a person decided to wear was like a glimpse into their life. For example, the woman approaching was wearing black leggings, black-heeled booties, a dark green sweater with a white scarf and cream peacoat. She was very put together and obviously took care in her appearance. She was a beautiful girl and by the way she walked, she knew it. However, her lack of brand names indicated that she didn't have the kind of money that she was trying to portray. My guess is that she worked in the marketing world or a job with a similar degree of respect but she was new to the job and thus didn't have the salary she was expected to have.

Of course, the sucky thing about people watching was that you never really found out the true story unless you approached the person and had a conversation. It was still fun to speculate. The woman in question caught my eyes, recognition sparking. I put up my head down and threw up my hood. I didn't have the energy to deal with fans right now.

I approached my favorite hole in the wall coffee shop, Java Jones, and ordered my usual, a decaf cappuccino with almond milk and two sugars, before taking a place in one of the comfy armchairs by the window. I was sitting, enjoying my coffee in silence when a "pmff" pulled my attention. Across from me sat the owner of the establishment and long-term friend, Maia.

"What's up Herondale? What's got you looking so glum? Get a bad review?" Maia joked. In high school, Maia and I had nearly bit each other's head off with our snarky comments. But soon after we came to respect the other's sarcasm and eventually I came to see her as a little sister, even though we were the same age.

"Well, that would require having material to make a comment about" I responded, said glum evident in my voice.

"Awwww is poor little Jacey hitting a writer's block?" God, she could be annoying, she's lucky I like her.

"Do NOT call me Jacey. Ever. Especially in public," I said looking around. Once I was confident no one heard that godforsaken nickname, I focused my attention back on the confident carefree brunette in front of me. Maia had always been a beautiful specimen but we just never sparked in the way of lovers. That was totally fine with me though because Maia had become a vital pillar of support over the years.

"Anyways, yes. I have hit some kind of… writer's block…." The words were sour on my tongue, "I don't get it. Sure I've been stuck before but never quite like this."

"Well, when was the last time you got laid?" I spit out my drink slightly, got to love Maia's bluntness.

"You and I both know that's not the problem." I had always been a little bit of a player. I mean could you blame me? So many girls got off on my books that they were dying for a taste of the real thing. I would be lying if I said my actions didn't break a few hearts but how was I supposed to determine who was sleeping with me for a night and who was expecting a lifetime?

"Hmmm, yea you're right there…" Maia sipped her tea and pulled her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball on the armchair before me, "Well, when was the last time you were in love?"

I spit my coffee a little more again, "Umm never."

"You are going to sit here and tell me that you are a romance author and you have never been in love? What about that girl, what's her name, Aline? Weren't you with her for like a year?"

"Yea but we were just having fun, you saw that girl, she was nowhere near girlfriend material."

Maia snorted, obviously agreeing with me. Aline had a stick shoved so far up her ass but it had worked out well for both of our reputations. Everyone loves a romance author in a romance. And as a social media "influencer" my pretty face was loved by her fans.

"And I mean, most romance books are like the honeymoon phase so having a long term girlfriend, and especially having 'love'," I added with air quotes, "Isn't super necessary. Plus, its really just giving women what they want to hear."

"Alright, well if it's so easy then why are you stuck?"

"Because it's the background plot that really matters to me. Like yea these two are definitely going to fall in love but what are they going to overcome together, what intricacies lie in their relationship, what growth comes about in the characters. That is what I am stuck on."

"Well, maybe you need non-traditional inspiration."

"What exactly does that mean?" I questioned nervously. Maia's ideas often were a little out there. Like the time I lost the number of a girl who had left her jacket at my house and Maia suggested I hire a private detective. Like what?

"I dunno. Maybe go to the strip club. Go fuck a hooker. Go to a gay bar. Hell, visit the Playboy mansion." Case and point.

"Seriously, Maia? Fuck a hooker?"

"Hey don't get mad at me for thinking outside the box! You want inspiration for something new, you gotta do something new."

Right as I was about to go off on how ridiculous her ideas were, I felt a buzzing in my pocket. Looking down I groaned, I really wasn't ready to be reamed into by Magnus yet again.

XXX

Walking into the front door of my house, I dropped my keys on the side table, hung my jacket up, and plopped on the couch. Magnus's rant had been littered with expletives and colorful words successfully making me feel even shittier about the situation I was in. As much as I wanted to complain about Magnus, I definitely did owe him a lot for getting my career off the ground. I didn't want to let him down but he had to understand that authors sometimes got stuck, right?

Running another hand through my hair, I glanced around the first floor of my house. It was a mess. The entire place had a very homey feel despite the big windows and open concept. Nothing really matched in terms of furniture. The navy blue couch and maroon armchair were the kind that swallowed you whole when you sat down, aka my favorite. The coffee table was basically an unfinished slab of wood, giving it a rustic/artsy feel. A huge wood fireplace sat across the way, beautifully surrounded by deep red brick and dark mahogany. And on top sat my prize possession, a 75-inch flat screen TV. Yes, I know, I'm such a guy. Behind the couch lay the large windows looking over a small pool/hot tub combo and a small patch of land with a hammock on the right. The living room and windows gave right into the dining room, basically just a relatively large dark wood table with chairs all around before finally leading into the kitchen. The kitchen was also a baby of mine. I had spoiled for stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. I wasn't a professional chef by any standard but I thought I could hold my own in the kitchen.

Each room, however, was a disaster. When I slumped in one part of my life, the rest of my life seemed to follow which explained why everything was a mess. Old pizza boxes lay on the kitchen counters, random articles of clothes were strewn about the living room, and mail had piled up on the dining room table. It was definitely not a pretty site but at least I was able to call it mine.

I pulled out my phone, opting to scroll through social media in an attempt to run away from my problems but since most of my social media had to do with my career it seemed to only enhance shittiness I was feeling inside. I was desperate for inspiration.

As I sat on the couch and contemplated how exactly I was going to get out of this rut, Maia's ideas were becoming more and more appealing. I mean it's not like I've never been to a strip club or hooked up with a random stranger, and if I'm being honest, her suggestions weren't far from exactly that. But she was right in that if I wanted inspiration for something new I had to experience something new.

With a quick Google search, I had found a high-end escort service, The Shadow Slaves, which provided a large array of entertainment services. There was even a link that provided pictures and short descriptions of each of the girls. The idea of renting a girl slightly disgusted me but it was only going to be a one-time thing and I'd make sure to tip her well. As I was scrolling through the photos, a redhead caught my eye. She was a simple beauty, with bright green eyes, fiery red hair, and a significant display of freckles that would have looked cute if it weren't for the seductive look in her eyes.

Although her looks were stunning, it was the description that stopped me in my tracks. It read:

 _Looking to spice up the night? Well, you've come to the right girl. Clarissa is one of our most popular girls known for her firecracker personality as well as her show stopping beauty. She is down for just about anything and will leave you wanting more. But beware, she bites. Think you can handle it?_

The taunt was real but I was confident I could handle just about anything. I'd rock her world. After a few quick clicks, I had booked out her services for the remainder of the evening and considering it was 6:30pm we obviously had a lot of time. She definitely didn't come cheap so hopefully, this was worth it. With a quick shower and an outfit change, I was out the door.

I was ready to meet my firecracker.

 **Alrighty! Let me know what you think!**

 **~UndeniablyPeculiar**


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